Another Hot Day on the Daladala...

...When I got on, there were no open seats and already there were a few people standing. I squeezed my way on, trying (as always) not to look like a complete idiot-foreigner with my big sunglasses, hiking backpack, and increasingly blonde hair. After a few minutes down the road, more people continued to crowd on the already packed, sweltering bus. Somehow, there seems to always be room for a few more passengers. Traffic was at a complete stand-still; there was absolutely no breeze. Our journey was just beginning… I dreadfully realized that I would have to endure this situation for at least an hour more. Other sweaty bodies pressed up against me, and I started to feel really dizzy, light-headed, and claustrophobic. My body starting sweating profusely, desperately trying to pick up any movement of air to cool off my over-heating body. But there was no luck—my vision went all starry and I couldn’t see anything. I almost collapsed right then and there, but I knew that blacking-out just wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. I managed to take control of my panic, and inhaled and exhaled a few slow, deep breaths. I awkwardly managed to take off my heavy backpack, pushed my body through a few others’, and propped as much of my weight as possible against the back of a seat (good thing daladala etiquette allows you to push and shove other people out of the way to fight for your own space!). I kept my eyes closed for a very long time and continued breathing slowly; my light-headedness receded. The daladala starting picking up speed and finally my drenched skin provided me with its inherent purpose: personal air-conditioning. I knew I was going to survive another day on my notorious daladala commute…

MCC Retreat

Here are a few picts from our recent MCC retreat in Pangani....

The place that we stayed was awesome--right on the beach and all the rooms were completely open. Here's a shot of the main lobby (taken at my favorite time of night, twilight):

We took a couple small boats way out to this sandbar island where we snorkeled amongst the coral reef

We also trolled on the way home, but unfortunately the only fish we "caught" was already dead and Brian (my fellow SALTer) grabbed it out of the water with his bare hands

The place that we stayed is involved with some conservation work for sea turtles. They relocate nests from the sand bar and bring them back to the safer shores of the main land. We were fortunate enough to witness a few tiny turtles break free from their nest and struggle their way into the Indian Ocean. In 30 years, these turtles (if they survive) will come back to the exact spot they hatched and lay their own eggs. It was pretty epic!

Maembe

I really love mangoes. I was in India for my birthday two summers ago visiting my Aunt Dora, and she bought me all the different varieties of mangoes so that I could try each kind. I made sure that on my birthday I ate as many mangoes as possible because they just don’t taste the same when they are ripened in a box then bought from a grocery store in the US. Lucky for me, Dar has lots of mangoes and it is starting to feel like my birthday everyday because I am eating so many!

I’ve even made a new friend named David who picks out 2 of the best mangoes for me then cuts them in such a way that I can eat them on the spot. That’s all I’ve been wanting and my co-workers are starting to wonder why I am eating so many mangoes… But I’ll probably keep eating them until I get sick.

Mango trees are all over Tanzania. I like searching for them along the road during long bus rides or my daily daladala commute. The best ones to spot are really tall and broad with tons of fruit. As one of my former friends once said to me, imagine if we could talk to old, big trees—think of all the history they have seen and gone through! I think that mango trees have always been my favorite because in 2^nd grade I wrote a report about them… did you know that the mango tree gives fruit 3 times in 2 years and different parts of the tree fruit at different times, which is why one part of a tree can have fruit while the other parts don’t? (I actually don’t remember that from 2^nd grade—someone recently explained this to me)

I don’t know how long mango season will last here, so I will continue to gorge myself… it’s hard not to when they cost less than 40¢!

A True Tanzanian Experience...

This weekend I had a true Tanzanian experience, but unfortunately it was not a good experience at all: I was mugged and had my cell phone and some money taken from me.

My cousin, Stephen, who is from New Zealand but has been living in Uganda for half a year came to Dar to see me for the weekend. I met him downtown Dar after work on Friday and we went out to a place right near Posta for dinner (I ate pizza!!). After dinner (like 8pm) we decide to walk around a bit. Stephen was saying that he really misses seeing the ocean in Uganda, so we walked towards the water, then continued to walk along the street that ran parallel to the water. We kept walking, lost in our conversation when suddenly 4 guys (they couldn’t have been older than me) ran out at us from the dark… My instinct was to run away, so I did—away from Stephen and the other 3 predators. But one guy ran after me and grabbed at my pouch that I was clutching in my hands. He tried to take it from me, but I wasn’t giving it to him—I was pleading with him in broken Swahili (and I’m pretty sure I threw some Spanish in there too)… he started biting at my wrists because I wasn’t giving it to him. He kept on biting me, pretty hard, until finally I figured that it wasn’t worth it. He took my pouch and ran off, and stupidly I ran after him (I don’t know what I would have done though if I actually caught up to him!) but one of the other guys stopped me and told me it was okay. But obviously it wasn’t okay, so I tried pleading with him too, calling him my brother and that I know Swahili and that I really need my cell phone but they can take the money. He said sorry than ran off. At that point I realized that I ran away from Stephen and I had no idea where he was or if he was okay (he already wasn’t feeling good because he had malaria and the 36+ hr bus ride from Kampala didn’t help). I called out his name, and he responded so I ran to meet him—he was fine. After seeing that we were both okay, we ran to the nearest building with a night guard and yelled for help. Our first try, there was no one at the station so we ran to the next building. This time someone was there so we asked them to get us a taxi and I tried to explain what had happened… I told them where we were staying and they said it was close. One of the guards starting walking with us, then pointed down a street (another dark one) and said we should just walk straight and our hotel was just down the road. What help they were! So we started walking, but saw a taxi and decided we better do that instead of walking, even if it was close.

Once we got back to where we were staying, we had a chance to hear each other’s sides of the story. The three guys that went at Stephen had machetes, so he was not resistant at all and they proceeded to take his wallet and his cell phone. Luckily, they dropped his wallet after taking the money so they didn’t get his credit cards (but he had just taken out quite a bit of money from the ATM). I guess they were poking him with their machetes, having one against his neck and the others against his pockets and shirt. But thankfully they didn’t actually puncture him—just ripped his shirt a little. It sounded like his attackers were very fast, just taking his money and phone and running off back into the dark. He feels really bad that he couldn’t do anything more—but it probably didn’t help that I ran away from him!

Since they ended up taking my whole pouch (my favorite blue, India wallet) they got some of my money (like $40), my cell phone, my USB drive, and a copy of my passport (hopefully they’ll feel bad when they look at my picture!). It’s funny because usually whenever I travel and go out somewhere, I never keep all my money in one place and definitely don’t carry that much with me. But in this case, I had with me all the money I brought for the weekend…

And actually, Stephen and I shouldn’t have been walking out at night by ourselves, but especially the place where we were. It’s almost funny because I looked in my guide book later that night and it says to avoid walking along the water where we were at all times (even during broad day light). It was really stupid, and we both realize now that we definitely should not have been where we were! It’s just a bummer that we had to learn that in such a dramatic fashion. But it could have been so much worse—they had machetes and there were 4 of them and only three of us (a small girl and a guy sick with malaria!)—so I am very thankful for the fact that they only wanted our money and not to hurt us, well besides biting my wrists (who does that??)

It was scary at the time and right after, but now I am not feeling traumatized, just upset about having my stuff taken from me. (And I feel worse knowing that my parents and boyfriend are even more worried about me know!) But I guess this was a good lesson for me to realize that I am not invincible and not everyone is going to be my friend. It also helps me see that sometimes I need to be cautious and I really can’t defend myself in situation like this one. It’s also good to know that it’s okay to not be too brave.

I thank everyone for their concern, and especially their continued prayers and thoughts. I promise to be safe!

Here are a few small snap shots:

This is the Indian Ocean--an accessible view only a few miles from my house.

This is the Start of Salasala, the area where I am living.

I walk past this view everyday--families that work in the quarry mining Tanzanite, a type of rock, live here.

This is the road that I walk down everyday...

...that leads to my house!

And here is Veronica, working in the church office!

Oh, Tanzania...

I wrote this on Saturday when I was feeling homesick: “I think I am realizing how very far away from home I am! I was just looking through a Washington book that I bought for $3 at ½ Priced Books that I intended to give as a gift to my host family, but haven’t yet. I am secretly glad I didn’t give it to them because looking through it helps me to remember how beautiful WA is. The book isn’t that high quality or anything, but it is filled with great pictures of the mountains, forests and cities that I have grown up in and love. There are times when I love everything about life here in Tz, but then I also have days like today where I really miss everything about Seattle. It has been raining very hard all morning, except the rain here still brings hot, humid air—nothing like the cold Seattle rain that happens this time of year. If I were in Seattle today, I would put on jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweater, pull on my black raincoat, and take my iPod, a book, and a crossword puzzle to a Café Fiore and drink an Americano… (I mean I would do that if I weren’t out hiking…)

Well, since I am obviously very far from all that, I am finding myself doing things that probably would not be happening to me in Seattle: I woke up at 8am to the sound of my host sister moping the hallway outside my room; my bedroom door was wide open. I was very hot and sweaty upon waking even though I was sleeping in a t-shirt with no covers. So, I decided to go and cool off by showing—with cold water out of the bucket, or course. I felt hungry because I did not have dinner last night, so I crawled out from under my blue mosquito net and went out to the dining room to see what I could find—tea and plain white bread, as usual. After eating something, I came back into my room and decided to reorganize my things a little. This didn’t occupy me for very long since my few belongings that I brought with me are still all in the bags that they came in. Around 1pm my host sister who is 12 came into my room and announced that lunch was ready (yes, it STILL feels very strange to have a 12 year old take care of me…). We ate ugali (a thick, pasty, white, starchy substance always served for lunch) and some meat made with a tomato sauce. After eating, I washed the ugali and sauce off my hands (ugali is always eaten with your right hand—you grab a chunk of it, roll it into a ball, then use it to grab the other food, in this case meat) then went off to decide how to spend the rest of my Saturday here in Salasala, Tanzania…”

...But it seems like just when I am missing home a lot, I experience events that make me appreciate the very fact that I am far from home…

For example, yesterday on my way to work in the daladala, two young girls were talking about my hair, and how they wanted to touch it (I was secretly listening to them). They started to touch my tiny ponytail and then proceeded to giggling. I just looked up at them and smiled, which made them laugh even more. Throughout the rest of my bus ride, they kept taking turns grabbing my hair when they thought I wouldn’t notice.

Everyday for lunch, I go to this little canteen and buy a plate of fresh fruit—papaya, banana, cucumber, and watermelon. Louis, the guy who prepares my plate of fruit is always very excited when I come. Actually, all the people that work there always greet me happily “Dada (sister) Rachel!” Today when I went to pay Louis for my fruit (less than 40¢) he proceeded to tell me how much he loves me and wants me to marry him. He was quite disappointed when I told him I already had a boyfriend in the US. But then he said that’s okay—he’ll still love me and give me fruit everyday.

Then after work (we left early because there was no electricity) I boarded the daladala and was lucky enough to have snagged a seat. The sun was shinning warmly on me and since I had just eaten lunch, I started to drift off to sleep (yes, I really can sleep anywhere!). But, I was rudely awoken by the bus halting, pulling over and people rushing out yelling “moto!” (fire)! So, I followed suit and quickly disembarked. With everyone off the bus, the konda and driver did some tinking around inside and got rid of the smoke then told everyone to get back inside. I was a little skeptical, but everyone else got back on so I did too. It took a few tries to get the engine started again, but eventually it did and we were off on the road again, this time with no smoke. The bus was sputtering a bit so the driver pulled into a gas station (yes, daladala’s frequently make a pit stop with all the passengers on board) filled up and again we continued. After going a few minutes, the engine caught on fire AGAIN so we all had to evacuate hastily once more! This time, no one bothered to wait around, so I had to find another daladala to take me the remainder of the way… It’s ironic almost because I was just thinking the other day how I’ve never broken down on one of my trips to/from work (it’s not unusual to see broken down daladalas on the side of the road with passengers stranded).

When I got home, I found my host sisters busy in the kitchen. Rebekah was sifting the bugs and sand out of the rice and Rehema was preparing the beans. They both looked busy, so I asked if I could help (when the power goes out it is usually by 6:30pm, so lately we have been trying to cook everything before then). I was handed a basket filled with dagaa (little dried fish, sort of like sardines but a little bigger) and Rehema showed me how to snap the heads off then put the dried, silver fish bodies into the pot. So, I proceeded to break off little fish heads for 45 minutes…not something I would have necessarily preferred to be doing since a) dagaa smells like fish (no surprise there and b) I knew that I would be eating these in a little bit. But actually, the way dagaa is prepared tastes pretty good—lots of tomato, coconut milk, and of course lots of salt and oil.

After I was done beheading the dagaa, my tasks were done in the kitchen so I went jogging up to the top of the Salasala hill. I always receive some sorts of funny comments and reactions, but today a few things in particular made me laugh. I ran past a few women who were carrying what looked like pretty heavy loads of something on their heads. They seemed impressed as I jogged past them (really I was impressed with them—I don’t think I could balance something on my head while walking!) making noises and saying “hongera, hongera! (congratulations). Then, when I was almost back home, coming down the bumpy dirt road that leads to my house, there was a group of men gathered around a pothole that they had just filled. As I approached, one man quickly pushed everyone out of the way in order to make a lane for me to run through, between everyone. It was quite awkward, as everyone stopped their work and starting yelling faster, faster and clapping, cheering me on, but was also really funny.

It always seems like when I am feeling the most homesick is when I begin to take note of all the small things—scary, funny, unusual—and it helps me appreciate the chance that I have to live here in Tanzania and have encounters like these that will make good stories to tell for the rest of my life!

Here is my hair cut.

Here is a picture of my hair cut... I don't think it's been this short since I was a little kid and wanted to be just like my older brothers!!

This is one of the mango trees just outside my house.

There are TONS of mango trees all over the Dar area, so I am very excited for them to be ripe :) We also have lots of passion fruit trees (well, they're more like little bushes) that are almost ready for picking!

This is a picture of some land that is over in Kigamboni, the peninsula just across from Dar:

We had to take a ferry to get over there. Kigamboni is a very poor part of Tanzania, so the Mennonite church is trying to start some agricultural projects over there to help along side with the local community. We had a meeting on Thursday with some MCC people from Canada who approve project proposals to tell them about our intentions with the Kigamboni area. Unfortunately, they said that our project wasn't going to receive funding, but they told us to rethink it and resubmit a proposal. So that's what I will be doing for the next two weeks...

This past week I also visited Nyantira, another area that the Mennonite church is working in. There are already a few established projects in the area to help orphans and vulnerable children, providing them with money for school fees and encouraging them to continue their education. There is also a group of women who have a revolving credit fund, called VICOBA, (Village Community Bank). They are hoping to finish construction on a health center and water well to provide community members with clean water and local health care (people have to travel a long ways to get any kind of medical help) and also to get electricity (but once again, the project has been haulted because of a lack of funding).

Yesterday, we to Nyantira again and helped clear some rubble from the construction site and planted a few mango trees. Here is a picture of the intended health center: